


Forged in Fire

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Family Bonding, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Illnesses, Injury Recovery, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Surgery, family support
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: Six months. Lan Fan had six months to install automail and recover. There was no other option.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a story idea that heas intrigued me for over a year. I've seen fics about Edward's recovery, and I always wondered about Lan Fan's. I mean, she recovered in half the time, so her recovery must have been excruciating.
> 
> I tried to write this months ago, but it became difficult for me because I starting drawing on my own experiences of major surgery to write, and it became a bit gruelling. But I finally managed to get the first chapter to a point where I can upload it. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> BTw, the tag about Lingfan is because Lan Fan has feeling's for Ling, not because we'll have romantic moments between the two--sorry if I disappointed you there!

Lan Fan was almost ready. She smoothed down the fabric of the dark, long-sleeved shirt that the Elric brother’s had brought for her—apparently from Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. They’d also brought a coat, a pair of leather boots, and loose, black trousers. She looked down at herself. She supposed the clothes would help her blend into the Amestrian crowds easier than her uniform would. Although, if she hadn’t been injured, she wouldn’t have to blend into the crowds. She could have hid in the shadows, watching in case the Young Lord— Lan Fan deliberately snapped off that train of thought. She couldn’t afford to think of him right now.

 

There was only one thing left to do. She glanced at the dressing table, where Grandfather had left her weapons. Lan Fan’s breathing became ragged as she stared at the kunai. The bedroom light glinted of the edge of the blade. She tried to ignore the way her fingers shook as she crossed the room and she reached for it.

 

_“So . . . you’re able to detect his presence are you?_ ”

 

_She turned, and narrowed her eyes at the figure strolling down the street. He was an older man, and powerfully built. His military uniform was neat, and the way he drew his blade spoke of years of training._

 

_“Well, that’s quite the nuisance. Let’s take care of it.”_

 

_He charged forward, surging up the ladder and closing the distance at lightning speed. His blade glinted, and she made a desperate swipe at him even as his sword ripped through the flesh of her arm. She screamed, and fell. She slammed into the concrete, and lay there. Pain paralysed her, and she could feel blood soaking her shoulder. The world went in and out of focus, but she registered voices._

 

_“Can I eat her now?”_

 

_“Just make it quick.”_

 

The kunai clattered to the floor.

 

She clamped down on her screams, and forced her shaking knees to hold her up.

 

_You stupid fool!_ She scolded herself. _How can you call yourself a warrior if you can’t even handle your own blades?_

She took another deep breath and scooped up the kunai. As she moved, she tried not to feel her sleeves flapping through the air, or the tug of Dr. Knox’s careful stitching.  Once she had the kunai in hand, she placed it between her teeth, hitched up her trousers, and strapped it to her calf. It was lucky that Grandfather had taught her to handle her weapons with one hand. Once she was done, she lowered her leg and inspected it. The kunai was completely concealed.

 

Her eyes moved from the concealed kunai to the rest of the room. Everything was exactly how Dr. Knox had left it. There were stacks of newspapers and advertisements piled around the room, clothes strewn everywhere, and dirty coffee mugs stacked precariously on various surfaces. Blankets huddled in piles on the floor, and there were ashtrays all over the place, each one overflowing with cigarette stubs and ash. Yet, for all he was careless with his things, Dr Knox had shown a remarkable concern with the well-being of his patients—both her, and that Chang Heiress.

 

_It’s a good thing that she left before Grandfather arrived,_ she thought, _or he might have had to kill her. She’s an enemy, even if she’s small . . . barely more than a child._

On the other hand, Grandfather had an intense respect for the rules of hospitality and honour. If Dr. Knox had offered his protection and home to the Chang Heiress, then Grandfather would never have harmed her in the vicinity of the doctor. It would have been Grandfather’s way of showing his gratitude. Lan Fan shook herself, and went over to the bed. With her one hand, she straightened the covers, and then left the room.

 

She headed down the stairs, towards the sound of familiar voices. The door creaked as she entered the parlour. It was as messy as the rest of the house, with piles of books and newspapers everywhere. There were medical supplies scattered amongst the piles, along with dirty dishes and hand-written notes. Dr Knox was standing by the table, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He had an ashtray beside him, and it was already overflowing. Ed and Al were standing by the couch, deep in conversation. It was always a bit of a shock to see the two of them together. The imposing, seven-foot tall spiked suit of armour, and a boy with metal limbs and tacky red coat. Looking at them, it was easy to think they were some sort of performing duo—but she’d learnt that they were far more than they appeared to be. 

 

 Lan Fan couldn’t exactly hear what they were saying, but she did catch the word “alkahestry” in the conversation. And, her eyes moved to the final figure in the room. Grandfather. He was staring out the window, his face folded into a frown. Lan Fan flinched as she looked at him, remembering both the sharp sting of his slap, and the way he held her empty sleeve and wept.

 

She cleared her throat. “I’m ready.”

 

Grandfather didn’t react. But, the others did. Dr Knox stubbed out his cigarette and started a new one, holding his carton in his hands. Ed and Al broke off their conversation to come to her.

 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Al asked, his voice echoing from the depths of his armour.

 

Her shoulder was still throbbing. But, she wasn’t about to complain about such a trivial matter.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

The brothers exchanged glances, and then Ed turned back to her with a frown.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

 Ed snorted. “Yeah, right.”

 

She glared at him, and Ed sighed.

 

“Look, are you sure we can’t introduce you to a mechanic? Even if you don’t go to Winry, Granny is just as good.”

 

Lan Fan shook her head. “It’s too dangerous for everyone. You said it yourself that Winry was being watched. Besides, the enemy saw my face . . . I’ll endanger both of them if I go to them.”

 

But, she was touched by the concern in Ed’s golden eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“Are you sure you want to go through the surgery? Automail attachment and rehabilitation is not easy.”

 

A memory flitted across her mind. The Young Lord with his crooked smile, his Dao sword casually leaning against his collarbone, and a tattered black coat thrown over his bare chest.

 

_Take care of Lan Fan._

 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be recovered in six months.” If _Ed_ could do it in a year, then six months would be no problem for her.

 

“Please,” Ed scoffed. “There’s no way you’ll be recovered in six months.”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Ed smirked a little at her. “Right. I’ll hold you to that, hey?”

 

He held out his fist, and Al did the same. “Take care of yourself,” Al said.

 

For a second, Lan Fan just stared at their fists. Then, she bowed, and—hesitantly—bumped her knuckles against first Al’s then Ed’s fists.

 

“I’ll see you soon.”

 

 “Come, Lan Fan. We’re leaving.” Grandfather said.

 

Still, there was one more thing she had to do before she left. Dr. Knox was standing off to one side, his hands now stuffed into his pockets. His eyes were distant. She walked up to him, adjusting the lapels of her coat as she did.

 

“Thanks, Dr. Knox. Thank you for saving me.”

 

For a moment, something like shock flitted across the doctor’s face. Then, he pressed his lips together and turned away.

 

“Just clear out already. I’m not such a pushover that I’ll let you take my bed for another night.”

 

She nodded, and bowed once more.  As she turned away, she heard a faint voice saying “You’re welcome.”

 

Her mouth curved upwards, as she left the room and stepped out into the night, with Ed and Al right behind her.

 

“Which way are you guys going?” Al asked.

 

Grandfather pointed up the hill.  “Our path leads that way.”

 

“Well, we’re heading back to the city. I guess we’ll see you around.”

 

“Wait.”

 

Lan Fan’s eyes widened as he bowed to the Elrics. “Thank you for protecting the Young Lord. And, for taking care of my granddaughter.”

 

Al laughed, and Ed shrugged. “It’s no problem. It’s what friends do.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Grandfather started up the hill, and then glanced back.

 

“ _I’ll let you say your goodbyes.”_

 

_“Thank you, Grandfather.”_

 

She bowed to the Elrics. “I will see you soon. Take care.”

 

“You too.”

 

“And,” Ed added, “Once you get your automail, I’ll show you some tricks so you can take advantage of it in a fight.”

 

“It sounds good.”

 

The Elrics started down the hill, but paused and waved just before reaching the bottom. As she watched, they turned down a street and disappeared into the tangled streets of Central city. Lan Fan turned her eyes back to the doctor’s house. The windows were dark and on the few that were lit, she could see streaks of grime. The roof was missing a few tiles, and she could see rust on the handle of the door. The garden was similarly unkept. The lawn was long enough to reach Lan Fan’s ankles, and was littered with dandelions and blackjacks.

 

She fondly patted the gate, and hurried after Grandfather. As she walked, she let her sense of qi unfurl. As usual, the rotting qi at the heart of the city made her stomach roil, but she tried to ignore it and spread her senses outwards instead. She wondered what the Young Lord’s qi would feel like now that the monster was inside of him. Would it still be the bright qi she knew as well as her own? Or would it have become the like the toxic qi she sensed whenever she was near the other homunculi? Or, would it— she started as she suddenly noticed two other qis nearby

 

She glanced up. The one qi belonged to a young man. He was good-looking, she supposed. Not as handsome as the Young Lord, of course, but there was a kindness in his eyes that Lan Fan liked. He wore a freshly-laundered suit, with a tie that had been deliberately straightened and his hair was carefully combed. The other qi belonged to the woman he was walking arm-in-arm with. A much older woman in a green jersey. The woman’s face had been carefully made up, and she seemed to have taken great care in her appearance . . . as if she was meeting someone very important.

 

Lan Fan paused, and watched them for a moment. Their conversation drifted through the air towards her.

 

“I-I’m sure it’s around here somewhere . . . ” the woman peered at the houses, her brow furrowed.

 

“Are you sure, Ma? We’ve been up and down the street three times already. Maybe it’s the next street?”

 

“No. It know it’s here  . . . somewhere . . .” the woman chewed on her lip as she looked about.

 

Lan Fan tilted her head as she looked at them. The people looked familiar. But, she was certain she’d never met them before, so why—

 

The picture. The picture of Dr. Knox’s family

 

Of course, they looked older now. The woman’s blonde hair now had grey streaks, and the boy had grown from a gawky teen into a broad-shouldered young man. But, they were still recognisable. Lan Fan hesitated for a moment, then hurried over to the two of them.

 

“Excuse me,” she said, as she executed a neat bow, and shifted so that her empty sleeve was half-hidden, “but, are you two looking for Dr. Knox?”

 

“Yes!” the man’s eyes lit up, “Do you know where he is?”

 

Lan Fan pointed to the half-dilapidated house down the road, hoping that her coat wouldn’t slide off her shoulder and expose her injury.

 

“He lives in that house over there.”

 

The man’s face broke into a huge grin. “Thank you so much. “

 

He grabbed his mother’s hand, and the two of them hurried towards the house. As they reached it, Lan Fan couldn’t help hoping that things resolved themselves for Dr. Knox. He deserved some happiness.

 

“Lan Fan.”

 

She spun, and found herself looking at Grandfather’s rigid face.

 

“You’re dawdling.”

 

She swallowed hard. “Forgive me, Grandfather.”

 

“Come. We need to keep moving.”

 

She nodded and fell into step behind him. At this time of the night, the streets were deserted, and their footsteps echoed through the empty air. The houses on either side of the street were silent, and Lan Fan couldn’t suppress a shiver as she walked past them. Their black windows reminded her of the empty eyes of corpses.  The streetlamps gave off a misty light that made everything around her seem surreal, and did little to ease her tension. The whole situation was surreal. Her arm was—was gone. And the Young Lord was . . .

 

She should have been there. She should have been at his side when he got pulled into Gluttony’s stomach. She should have stopped him taking the Philosopher’s stone into his body. She should have protected him better.  She slowed and came to a complete stop. After a few moments, Grandfather turned to face her.

 

“Lan Fan?”

 

She swallowed hard. “P-please forgive me, Grandfather. I’m so, so sorry. I-I know I failed you, and the Y-young Lord . . .” It became hard to speak. Tears clung to her lashes, but she refused to let them fall.

 

Grandfather gave her a long look. “Do you know why I slapped you?”

 

She nodded. “I failed you. I failed the Young Lord. I let that, that Greed-monster devour the Young Lord.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“I slapped you because you were wallowing in guilt and self-pity.” His eyes were soft. “Ad those things are luxuries we don’t have at the moment. You’ve lost your arm,” they both flinched at the words, “and we can’t change that. We need to decide what we do now.” he hesitated, and then said  “You could go back to Xing, if you wanted to.”

 

She stared at him. The thought of going home hadn’t even crossed her mind. For a moment, she could feel the snow-kissed mountain breezes on her face.

 

“But . . . what about the Young Lord? What about our Clan? The Young Lord needs my—needs our help. I can’t just abandon him. So,” she took a deep breath, “I need to find an engineer. I need an arm.”

 

She saw the pride flare in his eyes. “Then, I’ll help you get one.”

 

Before she could react though, Grandfather closed the gap between them and pressed her face into his shoulder.

 

“But, choosing to move forward doesn’t mean you can’t grieve for what you’ve lost.”

 

Her throat tightened, and she felt something inside her splinter. Sobs wracked her body. Soon his shirt was soaked. Through it all, Grandfather held her, running his hand through her hair and murmuring in Xingese. It took her a long time to run out of tears, but she eventually managed to quiet her weeping.

 

“Better?”

 

“A-A little.”

“Then come. The Emperor’s health only grows worse everyday. We don’t have much time to find the Prince, but we must return to Xing with the means for immortality.” He gave her a last hug, and then moved away. He gestured for her to follow as he continued up the hill.

 

Lan Fan paused, and looked back at the sprawling landscape of the city. From this vantage point, she could see all of Central city. The lights winked at her as she moved her gaze over its plains. Somewhere, somewhere out there was the Young Lord. Trapped by that—that vile creature. She clenched her fist.

 

“I promise, I’ll seek out the evil here. Remember us, we will return.”

 

As she said the vow, she knew that, once she’d gotten her arm back, she would come back to Central City. Then, she would rescue the Young Lord

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I'm back. Sorry the update took so long, but, like I said, this story is hard to write on various levels. 
> 
> Also, I know the manga didn't make Dominic a surgeon, but for the purposes of the story, I gave him both roles, and I also made Satera a surgeon. No body minds the changes.
> 
> Anyway, on with the story.

Lan Fan stood at the edge of the canyon and tried not to think. If she looked down, far below her feet was a thin silver ribbon of water—the last remains of whatever mighty river had carved the mountainside into the curving patterns of rock. Her eyes moved across the barren landscape, taking in the variety of hues in the rockface, from bleached bone-white to a beige colour that reminded Lan Fan of a beach she’d once seen in Xing. To her left, the rope-and-wood  bridge creaked in the slight breeze, and she automatically made sure that her hood and scarf were still in place with her remaining hand.

 

Grandfather had insisted on her hiding her face, and with good reason. The enemy what she looked like. If anyone were to recognise her, it might mean death—not only for her, but for all the people who had helped her. The Elrics. Lieutenant Hawkeye and the Colonel.  Dr Knox. And, maybe even the Young Lord would—

She crushed the thought before it could fully form. She couldn’t afford to think of the Young Lord. If she started thinking about him, and how he was suffering in the talons of that _monster_ , she’d go mad. She had to remain focused on her recovery. The quicker she recovered, the better it would be for the Young Lord.

 

She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. She followed this with another deep inhalation. Exhalation. Inhalation. Exhalation. Inhalation. The world around her receded as her sense of qi spread out. Far beneath her feet, she could feet the churning, rancid mass of qi that seemed to characterise Amestris. It was nowhere near as strong as it had been in Central City, but she nevertheless kept her qi sense from touching it too much. Instead, she directed her sense of qi towards the plain, stone house where her surgeon lived.

 

_Her surgeon._ The thought made her wounds twinge. Grandfather and she had thought the  best place to find an automail engineer would be Rush Valley—the Holy Land of automail, as Winry had called it. There they could find someone to—to fix her. To stop her being such a liability. A burden.

 

_Excess baggage._

Her heart slammed into her ribs. Cold sweat trickled down her spine, and she fought not to think of _him_ , or his blade ripping through her flesh and muscles, or his indifferent voice telling the other monster to eat her and “make it quick.”

 

She jerked her eyes over to the distant town. From this distance, she could only see the faint tendrils of smoke coiling up from the town.  But, she could picture Rush Valley in her mind’s eye. It was a busy town with buildings painted in cheerful, pastel colours and the widest assortment of automail shops anywhere in Amestris—or, that’s what Winry had told her. The air was tinged with the smell of oil and iron, and there was the constant noise of machinery mingling with the loud voices of vendors and shoppers in each street.  

 

Despite the town being the Holy Land of Automail, it had taken them much, much longer than they’d thought to find a surgeon.  Some of the surgeons had laughed outright at her when she told them she wanted her attachment and recovery to be finished in under six months. Others had told her that she was crazy. A few had told her that her wounds needed further healing, and that she should rest for several months before she should try automail attachment. And there were a few . . . a fair few . . . who’d stared at her with avarice in their eyes when she asked for attachment. Grandfather had marched her out of those workshops almost immediately, snarling in Xingese that if any of those surgeons tried to do surgery on Lan Fan, they’d be leaving in body bags.

 

Eventually, they’d heard of a man who was both an automail engineer and a surgeon who lived on the outskirts of Rush Valley—a man named Dominic. No one had been willing to introduce them to Dominic, but Grandfather had managed to arrange a meeting with Dominic’s son, Ridel, a cheerful young man who was usually fiddling with his glasses and had a smile for every occassion.  And, after a few hours of convincing, Ridel agreed to introduce them to his father.

 

_“So,” Dominic said, and leant forward, “You want to have automail attached and to be recovered in under six months?”_

 

_“Yes.” Lan Fan said tonelessly._

 

_She kept her eyes fixed on Dominic. He didn’t seem like the usual automail engineers, with his weathered face and deep scowl. He certainly didn’t dress like the other automail engineers. Most of them wore leather aprons and thick belts with dozens of tools jutting out from them. Dominic, in contrast,  dressed in a dark T-shirt and faded jeans. But, as much as he didn’t appear to be an automail engineer, a single glance around the room eliminated any doubts Lan Fan had in his ability. On the walls were a variety of tools—bone saws, pliers, wire cutters, tweezers, hammer, wrenches, as well as scalpels, scissors and assorted other instruments that she had no name for.  The remainder of the wall was covered in detailed blueprints of automail designs._

_Dominic set down his tools on the overturned crate next to him and shrugged._

 

_"It can’t be done. Especially on such a fresh amputation. Maybe if you come back in a few months I’ll consider it.”_

 

_At Dominic’s words, Grandfather stepped forward.  “We have the money. You wouldn’t be expected to work for free.”_

 

_“It isn’t about the money. It just can’t be done.”_

 

_Lan Fan stood up from her seat on an overturned crate. “Thank you for your time,” she said._

 

_Both she and Grandfather gave the surgeon a bow and started towards the door._

 

_“Where are you going?” he demanded._

 

_Lan Fan turned and looked back at him.“If you won’t give me an arm, then I’m going to find someone who will,” she said flatly._

 

_Dominic stared at her for a moment. In his eyes, Lan Fan could see something stirring. Eventually, he sighed and pointed to the overturned crate beside him._

 

_“Get your stubborn ass over here.”_

 

_She blinked and his scowl deepened. “Are you deaf as well as stupid? Get over here so I can see what I’m working with.”_

 

_“Does that mean you’ll perform the attachment?” Grandfather asked._

 

_“Yeah, I’ll do it. I can’t have her getting herself killed because she’s too stupid to know when to quit.”_

_Lan Fan scuttled over to the box and took a seat. Dominic’s gaze flicked over her._

 

_“Take the coat off. I need to see what I’m working with.”_

 

_Her cheeks turned red as she pulled off the coat she’d taken to wearing, despite the desert heat. She also removed her scarf and shirt, so that her bandages were clearly visible. Dominic shifted his own crate closer. He reached out, and carefully unwound the bandages from her shoulder. She flinched as the air touched her flesh, and she noticed Grandfather tensing beside her. Dominic looked up._

_“Satera! Get in here, now!”_

 

_For a second, nothing happened. Then, Lan Fan heard frantic footsteps, and the door swung open. A woman with short dark hair stepped into the room. She glanced around the room, and gave Lan Fan a warm smile. She didn’t even flinch at the sight of Lan Fan’s injuries. She just tilted her head and swiped her hands on her apron_

 

_“What is it? Do you need my help?”_

 

_“I need you to take a look at this amputation,” Dominic said, as he gestured at Lan Fan._

 

_Satera flicked a hair out of her eyes, and came over to inspect the wound._

 

_“_ _Hmm . . .” Satera frowned. “Well, the wound is fresh. How did this happen?”_

_“Train accident,” Lan Fan said quietly._

 

_It was the explanation Grandfather and she had given to all the automail engineers. After all, they couldn’t tell people that Führer King Bradley had tried to murder her. Satera tilted her head as she looked at the injury._

 

_“It’s a very clean cut for a train accident.”_

 

_“_ _I was very lucky,” Lan Fan said truthfully._

 

_“_ _Never mind that,” Dominic snapped. “Do you think it’s possible for us to attach automail to this?”_

 

_Satera sucked in a sharp breath. “So soon?”_

 

_“Yes,” Lan Fan said._

 

_“Well . . .” she frowned at the injury. “The swelling isn’t too bad. I think we could, if we have to. Once we remove the stitches, of course.”_

 

_“Of course.”_

 

_Lan Fan’s heart pounded in her chest. “You mean, you’ll give me an arm?”_

 

_“Yes.”_

_“Thank you” seemed so inadequate, so Lan Fan stood and bowed deeply to Dominic. He rolled his eyes, and yanked her back down._

 

_“Stay still. I need to measure you for the automail.”_

 

_He pulled a tape measure from somewhere in his pockets, as well as a scrap of paper and a pencil. He started taking various measurements: the length from her shoulder to her elbow, the length from her elbow to her wrist, the length from her index finger to her elbow, the length of each of her fingers, the width of her upper arm and wrist. After each measurement, he would write it down, and then calculate the ratios of the one piece to the other. Lan Fan was impressed about the amount of attention he was giving the build._

 

_“What kind of weather do you usually  experience in Xing?” he asked as he measured the thickness of her bicep._

_“Xing is a landscape with various environments. There are harsh deserts, as well as mountains and lush forests with plenty of rain year round,” Grandfather said as he came closer._

 

_Dominic’s frown deepened, as he measured the thickness of her fingers. “I see.”_

 

_“Is that a problem?” Grandfather asked._

 

_“No. It just will limit the kind of materials I use.  Do you have any preferences in terms of material or design?”_

 

_“_ _No.” Lan Fan said flatly._

 

_After all, it was just a metal piece that was going to make her functional again. Why should she care what it looked like?_

 

_Grandfather’s eyes darted to her, and she glimpsed something in that gaze that she’d never seen before. Then, his eyes moved to Dominic._

 

_“I have some ideas about the design,” he said._

 

_Dominic nodded. “That’s fine. We can discuss it properly once I finish measuring her.”_

_“How long will it take to prepare the arm?” Lan Fan asked._

 

_“Once the design is finalised, I’ll need about a week to build it and put it through the basic tests. I’ll use an alloy of metals. It will be lighter than ordinary automail, and it will be capable of enduring all types of weather. It will probably suit your slender frame more, as well.”_

 

_She barely registered what he was saying as Dominic finished measuring, and Grandfather led him aside  to discuss the design._

 

_An arm. She would be getting an arm._

She blinked as a sudden flare in the flow of qi brought her back to the present. She turned, and saw Grandfather approaching. Despite the heat of the day, he was wearing the Amestrian clothing—coat and fedora included. The wind made the ends of the coat flare out behind him as he approached. His gaze swept over her once, and then he came and stood beside her. For a moment, there were no sounds other than the flap of their clothing in the wind.  

 

Then, he cleared his throat, and tilted back his fedora. “Dominic said that the surgery room is nearly ready. Ridel will be coming out shortly to fetch you.”

 

Lan Fan nodded. It seemed that Dominic liked to keep the automail attachment business in the family—Dominic was a surgeon and the chief automail engineer. His son, Ridel was also an automail engineer, and Satera, Ridel’s wife, was a surgeon.  The three of them would be the ones attaching her automail. Her stomach roiled.

 

Then, Grandfather reached out and gently turned her so that they were facing each other.  She started at the worry glinting in his eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then cleared his throat.

 

“Little orchid, you don’t have to go through with this. If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. I won’t think anything less of you.”

 

She blinked at the use of her pet name. He hadn’t used it in years. Before she could answer, the wind picked up, and made her empty sleeve flap in the air. She looked away. She thought of the single scrap of cloth with “ _I found a Philosopher’s Stone_ ” scrawled on it—she hadn’t let it out of her presence since Al had given it to her.

 

“I need an arm.” It was the only thing she could say.

 

Grandfather let out a long breath and—

 

“There you two are!”

 

They both turned towards the sound. Ridel was racing towards them, waving hard. He was already dressed in surgeon’s scrubs, and had pulled a paper mask over his face.

 

“I’ve been looking for you two everywhere. I wanted to tell you everything is ready.”

 

“Good,” Lan Fan said.

 

She turned away from Grandfather and faced Ridel as he motioned for them to follow him.

 

“Now, you remember that we’re only going to be installing the port today. Once you’ve recovered, we’ll attach the arm itself,” he said.

 

“I remember,” she replied as she entered the house.

 

The house was very different from the rest of the buildings in Rush Valley. Whilst people in the town tended to favour vibrant hues of colour for their homes, Dominic’s house was the same sandy colour as the walls of the mountainside. She wondered if the choice had been deliberate, or if Dominic had been too lazy to paint his home. The interior was cool and well ventilated, offering welcome relief from the harsh sunlight. The layout of the house also told Lan Fan that it had been designed with the family’s automail attachment business in mind. The front of the house had the family’s living areas: parlour, an “open-plan” kitchen and dining area, as well as the bedrooms and bathrooms. The back of the house had Dominic’s workshop, the surgery, and several rooms for the patients to stay in.

 

Ridel led them through the plain corridor, past several wooden doors, and to the surgery at the back of the house.

 

“Here we are,” Ridel said as he pushed open the door.

 

 Lan Fan froze.

 

The room reeked of antiseptic, and the florescent lights were almost  blinding. In the centre of the room was a flat surgical bed, and alongside it were five black gas cylinders. In the corner was a green curtain, which separated the area from the rest of the room. There was a sink set into the counter on the one side of the room, and she could see several piles of bandages, as wells as rows of medicine bottles, lined up upon it. The floor was tiled, and the walls were painted pristine white. Sharp implements lined the walls, and glinted threateningly at her. Some of them she recognised. Bone saw, scalpel, scissors, knife, needle, nuts, wrenches, hammers, wire cutters, screw drivers. Others were simply sharp things designed for ripping through flesh and—she cut off the thought.

 

_Stop being a coward!_

 

There wasn’t time for fear. This was the only way she could hope to serve the Young Lord again. Her only chance to be _whole_.

 

Someone tapped her lightly on her shoulder, and she spun, her arm coming up in an automatic block.  Ridel jumped back, his eyes wide.

 

“Woah, easy. You could hurt someone.”

 

The blood rushed to her cheeks.  “I apologise,” she said, and bowed low.

 

As she straightened, she noticed that Ridel was holding a bundle of cloth.  

 

“You’ll have to change into these for the surgery.” His tone sounded slightly apologetic, as he pointed to the curtained off area in the corner.

 

She nodded and tried not to shake as she scooped the bundle out of his arms. She went over to the hanging curtain and pulled it closed.  She methodically removed her coat, and scarf. Then, she paused. The Young Lord’s message was still in her coat pocket. She had to make sure it was safe, but how—Grandfather. She’d tell him to look after it. She took a deep breath and continued.  It took her longer than she expected to shed her clothes and pull on the paper gown. The blood rushed to her cheeks as she realised that the back of the gown was completely open, and she was suddenly very grateful that the Young Lord was not here to see this.

 

She scooped her clothes up with her remaining arm, and she stepped out from behind the curtain. She felt more vulnerable than she had ever been in her life. She looked at her Grandfather and said, in Xingese.

 

“ _Grandfather, would you please make sure that my things are safe while they—while I’m asleep? There are some important things in my coat pockets.”_

 

He nodded and held out his hands. She handed over the clothes, and he tucked them carefully under his arm. She then turned to the bed positioned directly in the centre of the room.  She crossed the room, and lay down on the bed. The metal was cold against her bare back, and there was a strange smell lingering on the pillow. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe calmly

 

Then, she felt something warm hold her hand. She looked down and saw that Grandfather had his hand clasped around hers. Suddenly, she wanted to jump off the table and tell him she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t—

 

_Take care of Lan Fan._

 

She chocked down her fear.  He squeezed her hand once as the doors opened again. Satera and Dominic walked in, both dressed in surgical scrubs and wearing masks over their faces. As soon as he saw Grandfather, Dominic’s frown deepened.  

 

“Family is supposed to wait _outside_ the surgery.”

 

Grandfather gave him a flat look. “I’m staying with her until the anaesthesia takes effect.”

 

Dominic muttered something unintelligible under his breath and went over to the wall. He started examining the various blades and Lan Fan jerked her eyes away from him.  Instead, she looked at Satera, who was fiddling with the gas cylinders beside the bed. She turned a few dials, and then picked up a black mask. She gently placed the mask over Lan Fan’s face. “Just breathe deeply, and count backwards from ten. By the time you reach zero it will all be over.”

 

Her eyes flicked to Grandfather, and he said softly, in Xingese.

 

_“Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”_

 

_“Thank you, Grandfather.”_

 

She closed her eyes and started counting. The air smelt strange inside the mask, but she forced herself to breathe deeply.

 

_Ten . . . Nine. . . Eight  . . ._

 

What was she thinking? She was about to let a group of complete strangers cut her open and attach metal to her body. Had she lost her mind?

 

_Seven  . . . six . . ._

 

But, what else could she do? The Young Lord needed her. Grandfather needed her. She couldn’t let them down.

 

_Five . . . four . . . three_

 

Was she making the right decision? She didn’t know.

 

_Please . . . let me wake up._

 

_Two . . . One . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'd love to know what you guys think. I tried to make the description of the surgery and the preparation for the procedure a bit realistic. Also, it was pretty difficult to convey Lan Fan's fears over the surgery in this chapter, so I hope it came across well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . I apologise for the very long delay in updating this story. I didn't mean to leave it hanging for so long, but my life became really hectic both personally and professionally. And, this story was difficult for me to write from the start, so I kept writing, scrapping, re-writing, considered dumping the whole thing . . . .
> 
> Anyway, things eventually settled down and I was able to write a bit more of this story. Hopefully I won't keep ypu all waiting too long.

_Her feet slammed into the cracked concrete. Quiet. Everything was quiet. The abandoned buildings glared at her, their dark windows like the empty eye-sockets. The air tasted of ash. She sensed something moving above her, and glanced up.  The sky was dark red—like old blood. She shuddered and tried to focus on her surroundings. She had to find the Young Lord. She knew he was somewhere around—A vile qi brushed against her senses. She spun around, drawing her kunai. She held still, and then, she saw it shifting in the shadows between two buildings. As she watched, it stepped forward. Her breath caught as she noted the massive paws, each the size of her breastplate, the tufted ears, and the vicious fangs in the creature’s maw. Its red eyes fixed on her, and it let out a low growl._

_Lan Fan braced herself, and counted. Three . . . two . . . the monster lunged, and Lan Fan leapt aside, bringing up her kunai as she did so. The blade bit deep, and the monster cried out—in a human voice. Lan Fan landed lightly, and brought her kunai back up into a guard position. As she watched the monster bucked, and shrivelled into a human figure with long spiky hair and a bizarre outfit consisting of a skirt and a tight, leather shirt. The creature glared at her._

 

_“You don’t fight fair,” it said, as it straightened._

 

_Red light crackled around its wounds as they healed. She didn’t bother answering. She simply drew her other kunai. The creature smirked._

 

_“Well, why don’t you try fighting this?”_

 

_There was a flash of red light, and suddenly she was staring at a creature she’d only glimpsed a few times. A tiger. But, it was massive, far, far larger than the tigers in Xing. And, its eyes still glowed an evil deep red. It snarled and it leapt forward. Lan Fan tried to dodge, but the monster moved as fast as thought.  It slammed into her and she felt its fangs ripping into her flesh_

_***_

_She moved stealthily between the tree trunks. She took care where she placed each foot. Any noise could get her killed. She wasn’t sure what was hunting her, but she could feel its malevolent qi lurking in the shadows. She swallowed hard, and concentrated on the Dragon’s Pulse around her. In this darkness, it was the only way she could navigate—though trying to ignore the vile qi far below her feet made her head spin. She continued forward, using the deeper shadows to mask her movements. In the distance, she noticed that the trees thinned out, and formed a small clearing. The moonlight painted everything silver: the tree trunks, the tufts of grass, the rocks scattered about—it was oddly beautiful. In the centre of the clearing was a masculine figure. He had his eyes fixed on the swollen moon above it. He wore a long coat that flapped in the breeze. The same breezed tugged at his ponytail, and his dark hair undulated as he stood. There was something familiar about . . . her breath caught, and she took a hesitant step forward with her hand outstretched._

_“My Lord?”_

 

_The figure turned, and Lan Fan’s heart shredded at the sight of his blazing wine-coloured eyes. The face was the Young Lord’s—but she’d never seen that expression on the Young Lord’s face before. He gave her a ravenous grin, and said._

 

_“_ _I’m afraid not. The name’s Greed. It’s good to see you, Toots.”_

 

_He started walking toward her, and she leapt back, drawing her kunai._

 

_“Give the Young Lord his body back,” she snarled._

 

_He paused and stretched out the Young Lord’s hand. He flexed the fingers, and grey material surged across the skin, transforming the fingers into talons._

 

_“Sorry, Toots, but this body is mine.”_

 

_Lan Fan levelled her kunai at him. “I said give the Young Lord his body back.”_

 

_“Oh, he can’t do that,” a voice said, directly behind her._

 

_It was_ his _voice. The sound nearly made her knees buckle._

 

_She spun, and stared at Führer King Bradley. The man was dressed casually, in a shirt, and navy trousers. Except, they were stained with blood—her blood, she realised as the world spun._

_“He can’t do that because Father needs the Prince as his pawn. And, he’s told me to eliminate anyone who interferes with that plan.” He drew his blades as he spoke._

 

_Lan Fan tried to defend herself, but her arms were gone. All she could do was scream as Führer King Bradley’s blade plunged into her chest._

_***_

Awareness came in jagged pieces. The rough sheets scraping against her palm. The invasive tubes, one digging deep into her nose, and two other violating places far more private. The sweat sliding down her spine. She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. With begrudging slowness, her sense of qi spread out. She could sense Dominic’s steady pulse in the workroom, alongside Ridel’s. Satera’s warm presence was at the other end of the house. In her arms was the baby—and his qi was so bright it almost blinded Lan Fan.

 

But where was Grandfather? Lan Fan pulled her attention away from Satera, and followed the flow of the Dragon’s Pulse. She tried to keep the familiar sense of her Grandfather’s presence in her mind, and soon she felt it in the movement of the qi around her. It was directly beside her. With an effort, Lan Fan forced her eyes open. The tiny movement made her head spin, and it became worse as she tried to understand the bizarre streaks of silver paint everywhere. No, it wasn’t paint. It was the moonlight filtering through the shutters and landing on everything, including the man seated beside her. It took her several long moments to realise it was Grandfather.  He was as still as marble and, if it wasn’t for the warmth of his qi, Lan Fan might have thought he was dead.  The lines on his face suddenly seemed far more pronounced, and his shoulders were stooped. What had happened?

 

“Grandfather?” she rasped, and winced.  Her throat felt like it had been scrapped dry with sandpaper.

 

Instantly, his head snapped up. To her horror, she saw his eyes were moist. He reached over, and smoothed her hair back.

 

“Little orchid. You’re all right.”

 

“Grandfather, what happened? Have you heard any news? Is it the Young Lord? Is everyone—”

 

“Everything is fine.” Grandfather stroked her hair in a soothing manner.  “You came out of the surgery, but you’ve been feverish for a long time.”

 

Fever? Well, that explained the watery weakness in her limbs. She tried to sit up, and Grandfather reached out to support her. Without her having to ask, he handed her a glass of water. She took a few sips, and handed him back the glass.

 

Her eyes moved around the room, as she tried to work out where she was. It was a plain room, with four single beds, and a chair beside each one. Someone had dragged a table into the room, and upon it was a cold plate of food and a jug of water. Her heart started racing as she realised that she couldn’t see any of her possessions.

 

“Grandfather, where are my things?”

 

“They are all safely stored in my room. I didn’t want to leave them here because Dominic said that you would be moving to your own rooms after they attached the automail.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

His eyes moved to her left side, and her eyes followed his. Her shoulder was swathed in bandages, much like it had been before the surgery. Except, she could see that the socket now had an angular shape—a man-made port where the limb could be attached. Her stomach twisted.

 

“Dominic wanted to wait until the fever broke before he attached the limb. He said we had to be certain that you were strong enough to cope with the attachment,” Grandfather said.

 

Lan Fan nodded, and she was suddenly grateful that Dominic had chosen to wait before attaching the limb. It would have been a—a _shock_ to wake up with a metal arm. 

 

As she looked down at her body, she noticed the tube leading from her remaining arm to the IV bag dangling from a hook above her head.

 

“We’ve been giving you fluids through an IV. You weren’t able to keep anything down,” Grandfather said as he saw where she was looking.

 

She couldn’t remember that—her nightmares felt far more vivid than anything that really happened. She took a deep breath.

 

“I-I’m awake now. You should call Dominic and—”

 

“Don’t be a fool.” He snapped, and pointed at her bandages.  “You’ve barely woken up. You need to recover before we start fiddling with that thing.”

 

Lan Fan swallowed hard, and Grandfather busied himself making sure that she was properly propped up by pillows.

 

_I know Grandfather is right about wanting me rest . . . but, the Young Lord_ needs _me._

 

_You won’t be able to help him in your condition,_ her logical side rationalised. _Not until you’ve recovered a bit._

“You’re right,” she said. “I need to wait.”

 

He nodded. “Patience is a virtue you need to cultivate.”

 

She nodded, and was briefly struck by the irony of that statement. From what she knew of Grandfather’s youth, he had been as impatient as she was—or more so, if the stories were to be believed.

 

Grandfather sat back down in the chair, and gave her a searching look.

 

“Who is Envy?” he asked suddenly.

 

Lan Fan stiffened. “Where did you hear that name?”

 

“You were screaming it out in your sleep. As well as other names. Greed. Bradley.”

Her stomach churched, and her fist clenched around the sheets. She could feel the sweat seeping from her skin. Grandfather’s eyes widened, and he carefully reached over and laid a hand on her knee.

 

“I’m—I’m fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

 

“Yes.” She forced her voice not to quaver as she answered. “Envy is one of the monsters the Young Lord and I fought. It’s a shapeshifter. It can look like anyone or anything. The only way to keep track of it is through its qi. It can’t change that, no matter what shape it does take.”

 

She tried to keep her voice matter of fact as she spoke. It was easier that way. “We fought it when it was in the company of another monster. That one looks like an obese man, but he’s not. He eats people—” She shuddered and continued. “And he has another monster in his belly. He managed to eat the house that the Young Lord took me to and—”

 

“He was the one who swallowed the Young Lord and the eldest Elric brother?”

 

She blinked in surprise. “Ed? Yes. How do you know?”

 

Grandfather’s face became grim.  “I overheard him talking to his brother, He said that, after he and the Young Lord  were swallowed, they ended up in someplace out of a nightmare. It was sea of blood with fragments of buildings and corpses. The two of them tried desperately to escape, but there was no way out. Apparently, while they were walking, the Young Lord collapsed and the eldest Elric brother had to carry him to safety.”

 

Lan Fan nodded. Al had told her as much when she’d been recovering. She’d been surprised at first—but the more she’d thought about it, the surprise lessened. Ed obviously cared deeply about the people around him, so if it had only been him and the Young Lord . . . yes, she’d imagine that Ed would protect the Young Lord.

 

Grandfather hesitated for a moment, and then asked, “Who is Bradley?”

 

Her muscles locked. Bile burnt her throat and the world swam. She could feel the cold concrete of the roof beneath her cheek, the blood seeping between her fingers and the Young Lord’s horrified yell as they—

 

“Lan Fan!”  Grandfather’s voice jerked her back to the present. She sucked air into her lungs and wiped her damp forehead with the back of her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to look Grandfather in the eyes.  

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“You must.”

 

“Grandfather . . .”

 

“You must,” Grandfather repeated, and his voice offered no room for argument.

 

She braced herself, and said quickly. “Bradley is the leader of this country. His full title is Führer King Bradley. Or Wrath—that’s what the other homunculi call him. He looks and seems human but he’s not. He’s a monster, like the others. He—he—”

 

“Was he the one who took your arm?”

 

The air rushed out her lungs. Her throat tightened and she could only nod. Grandfather’s face was grim.

 

“And, Greed is the one who swallowed the Young Lord, correct?”

 

She clenched her teeth. “Yes,” she growled.

 

There was a monster she _didn’t_ mind seeing again.  Somehow when she saw that creature, she’d find a way to tear him out of the Young Lord’s body and make him suffer for everything he did to the Young Lord. Grandfather’s expression was intent, and he seemed to read her thoughts.

 

“Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to rescue the Young Lord from him.”

 

She gave a sharp nod. “Did Dominic say when I will be able to attach the automail?

 

“He said you have to recover from the fever fully. Two weeks was his suggestion.”

 

“ _What?”_

 

“He said your body doesn’t have the resources to handle the attachment at the moment. And I agree.”

 

“But . . .”

 

Her gave her a look that made her lips clamp together.

 

“You’re not ready for the automail just yet. Have patience little orchid, it will come soon enough.”

 

She didn’t argue with him. He sighed, and stood. . “I’m going to bring you some food. We’ll see if you can handle proper meals again.”

 

Food? Her stomach shrivelled at the thought, but she forced herself to nod. He quietly left the room, and she waited until she could no longer hear his soft footsteps. Once she was sure he was gone, she reached up a shaking hand and prodded her bandages. She hissed as her fingers found flesh, and then she went cold as she felt solid metal beneath her fingertips.

 

“They did it. . .” she breathed, as she prodded her new automail port. “They really did it.”

 

Tears fell and she didn’t bother to wipe them away.  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Lan Fan still doesn't have her automail and is struggling to deal with the emotional trauma she went through. I really feel for her.
> 
> As always, let me know what you all think. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is certainly not a very Christmas-y upload, nor the fluffiest I've ever uploaded, but this year I hadn't managed to get anything together to do a proper Christmas upload in time (possibly I will take the ideas and make an upload for next year??) 
> 
> But, at least it's an upload.

“You aren’t ready for this.”

 

Lan Fan narrowed her eyes at Ridel. “Yes, I am.”

 

It had been almost ten days since she’d woken up from the fever. Ten days of lying indolently in the bed, waiting for her body to heal. Ten days that stretched out like ten decades as she tried desperately not to think of the Young Lord and what Greed could be doing to him. She’d had enough of it. So, she’d cornered Ridel in Dominic’s disorganised workshop and demanded that he attach her automail. 

 

“You’ve barely recovered from your fever.” Ridel protested, “I mean, we only removed the catheter yesterday, and you’re still struggling to walk to the bathroom.”

 

Lan Fan felt her cheeks burn as she remembered that moment. Grandfather and Dominic had not been in the room, thankfully, but she’d still had to endure Ridel and Satera peering between her legs and discussing how to remove that awful, humiliating pipe.

 

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford to wait,” she said as she paced around the workshop, avoiding the overturned crates and tools scattered about.

 

“Don’t argue with her, Ridel,” Dominic said, as he came into the room.

 

He wiped his hands on his faded jeans and strode over to his workbench. He picked up a piece of automail and started examining the half-built hand.  “If she wants to be a bloody fool, then let her.”

 

Ridel set down the forearm he’d been polishing. “But, Dad—”

 

“Does that mean you’ll attach the automail?” she asked.

 

Dominic looked up from his work. “If you insist. But, don’t expect any sympathy from me when it hurts.”

 

She nodded. Dominic glanced over at Ridel. “Go and get the arm and Satera.”

 

Ridel’s jaw dropped, and he looked between Dominic and Lan Fan as if he wanted to argue. Dominic raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well?” Dominic said, “Don’t just sit there staring. Bring the arm.”

 

Ridel clamped his mouth closed, and reluctantly obeyed his father. He shut the door to the workshop, leaving Lan Fan alone with Dominic.

 

“Get your stubborn ass over here.” Dominic said, and he jerked his thumb at another overturned crate. Lan Fan sat herself down on it, wondering why Dominic liked sitting on the crates. This was the only place in the house where the crates were used as furniture, but maybe it was Satera who had forced the men to use actual chairs in the rest of the house. Her eyes moved around the room as they waited for Ridel to return. Lan Fan’s eyes lingered on the tools dangling from hooks on the walls, and pieces of half-built automail resting on the workbenches. She noticed as well that the designs on the walls had changed—the old ones had probably been completed and set aside in favour of the new ones.  She recognised Ridel’s scrawl and Dominic’s surprisingly neat print on the schematics.

 

The door of the workshop swung open, and Ridel entered the room, along with Satera—and Grandfather. Lan Fan flinched slightly when she saw his expression. He didn’t say anything, just went over and stood at attention nearby. Even though Grandfather was wearing a shirt and trousers, his bearing radiated his military training, and his angry gaze bored into her. She snapped her gaze to Ridel. He was carrying something that had been carefully wrapped in layers of coarse fabric.

 

“Is that . . . “

 

“Your automail?” he nodded. “Yep. We usually keep the finished products wrapped up, to prevent them from undergoing any excess wear-and-tear.”

 

“Never mind that,” Dominic snapped. “Satera, can you tell whether we can attach the automail?”

 

Satera’s eyes widened. “Dominic . . .”

 

“Just tell me whether it can be done or not.”

 

Satera sighed and stepped forward, reaching into the pocket of her apron as she did so. She pulled out a set of medical gloves and tugged them into place. Lan Fan removed her shirt, feeling her face go red. She tried to throttle her embarrassment as Satera started unwinding the bandages around her torso. Thankfully, Ridel and Grandfather had both averted their gazes, whilst Dominic kept his eyes fixed on the automail design on the wall. Lan Fan gasped as the last of the bandages peeled away and the cold air clawed at her skin. She glanced at the injury and her stomach lurched. She hadn’t had a chance to look at her port since it had been installed. The metal plate was thick, and she could see a small point where the arm could be attached. The flesh around the port was still slightly red.  Satera leant close, and carefully started prodding the swollen flesh around the metal.

 

“Well,” Satera said slowly. “The infection is nearly gone, and the port has taken nicely. If you _really_ want to, you could attach the automail.”

 

“Do it.”

 

Lan Fan forced her voice not to shake as she said the words. Grandfather’s face was unreadable, Dominic looked exasperated, whilst Satera and Ridel exchanged a look.

 

“Are you sure that you want to?”

 

She nodded.

 

‘Right. Then we’ll do it.”

 

“Hang on a moment,”Satera snapped. “ I know that you can’t attach the automail with her current shirt, but at least let me get her something to wear before we start.”

 

“Fine, just be quick,” Dominic started to say, but Satera was already out the room before he finished. Lan Fan didn’t wait, and pulled her old shirt over her chest.  The men, however, were still keeping their eyes respectfully away from her. Ridel busied himself with unwrapping the automail.

 

“I hope you like the design,” Ridel said. “Fu made some suggestions to Dominic about it, since you didn’t really seem interested in the design.” Ridel finished unwrapping the limb and stepped aside so that she could see it.

 

Lan Fan’s eyes widened. When she’d last been in Rush Valley with the Young Lord, she’d seen dozens of automail designs. Some were elegant, moulded to an almost exact replica of the patients’ other limbs. Others were bulky, designed to intimidate the viewer. And, still others were designed to  be weapons—cannons, or saws, or even huge pincers like the fiddler crabs she’d once seen in the Young Lord’s books. But, she’d never seen anything like this. The shoulder joint was hidden beneath interlocking plates that covered almost the entire length of the upper arm. The forearm was also covered with an armoured plate and each finger was perfect—anatomically correct and the exact size of her other hand.  The entire limb gleamed like it had been freshly polished.

 

_It’s . . . it’s almost beautiful,_ she thought. _It reminds me of something . . ._

 

Then, she realised that it—that _thing—_ was going to be attached to her for the rest of her life. That she was going to have a piece of metal sticking out of her body, like some freakish alkahesty experiment.

 

_It fine. It’s going to be fine. You know other people with automail. There’s nothing wrong with having it. It will all be fine. After all, how can you protect the Young Lord properly without it?_

 

She didn’t believe her mantra for a moment. She swallowed her scream, and then the door to the workshop swung open again. Satera was there, with a sleeveless shirt bundled in her one hand. She handed it to Lan Fan, who gratefully dashed out of the workshop and into the next room. She yanked on the shirt, and then leant forward so that her forehead rested against the cool stone wall. Her throat was dry.

 

“Come on. You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve come this far—you can’t turn back now. People are counting on you.”

 

She straightened, and strode out the room and into the workshop. Satera gave her an approving look. “Right, now you can attach the automail if Lan Fan’s still sure she wants it?”

 

Lan Fan nodded again. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Dominic grabbed a wrench, and Ridel took hold of an alum key, and the arm itself. As they approached, Lan Fan turned her head and fixed her eyes on one of the schematic drawings on the wall. Maybe it was cowardly, but she couldn’t bring herself to watch as they attached the arm. Dominic and Ridel pulled up two more crates beside her, and set to work. Grandfather moved from his position to stand beside her. She felt him lay a hand on her uninjured shoulder.  As Dominic and Ridel worked, she felt pressure, and heard a loud click as the port connected to the automail.

 

“Brace yourself.” Dominic said. “We’re about to connect the nerves.”

 

Lan Fan briefly wished she had a leather strap to bite down on. She noticed Grandfather’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth—

 

Too late.

 

 Dominic yanked the wrench. Agony tore through her, and her back arched. A scream ripped from her chest, and she thrashed as the world went white.

 

***

She had no idea how long she floated in emptiness. Blissful, painless emptiness. She wished she could stay there—free from pain, worry . . . duty. But slowly, her awareness of the world returned.  The dampness of her cheeks. The hoarseness of her throat. The taste of blood in her mouth. And, worst, the pain radiating from her shoulder.  She could hear voices yelling as well. It took her several minutes to recognise Dominic’s and Grandfather’s voices.

 

“ _What did you do to her?!”_

 

“I did what the stubborn fool told me to do,” Dominic snapped. “I warned her that she wasn’t ready.”

 

“You didn’t say she’d be in agony.” Grandfather sounded furious.

 

“I thought that would be obvious. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said she’d be spitting blood if she wanted to recover in six months.”

 

“Why didn’t you give her something to help with the pain, if that’s the case?”

 

“The only thing that helps the pain are strong sedatives and—”

 

“I don’t need a sedative,” Lan Fan snapped.

 

She felt hands holding her in place, and realised that Grandfather was supporting her. She pushed him gently away, and as soon as his hands left her, she struggled to remain upright.  Her left side felt oddly heavy, but she refused to look at the automail. Dominic gave her an assessing look.

 

“It seems like the nerves connected, but we need to be sure. Can you feel anything from your arm?”

 

Lan Fan frowned. “The automail is made from metal. How can I feel anything?”

 

“There are pressure points in the finger tips and in the palm. You should be able to tell that you’re touching something through those. “

 

Lan Fan frowned, and tried to concentrate on her new limb. She could feel the point where her flesh connected to the port. There was enough pain radiating from there to make her grit her teeth. But, beyond that? Nothing. She shook her head.

 

Ridel shot a glance at Dominic. “Could we have attached it wrong?”

 

“No. The pain must be interfering with her ability to feel. Try again.”

 

Lan Fan sucked in a breath, and tried to focus. She had to know if this automail would work. Otherwise, this whole ordeal would have been pointless. She took several  breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Her awareness of the world around her faded, and her sense of the Dragon’s Pulse unfurled. She ignored the vileness beneath her and tried to redirect her focus. As usual, it was difficult to get a sense of her own qi. But, if she concentrated, she could sense her own body. The thump of her heart. The flow of air in and out of her lungs. The slow movement of blood through her veins. She concentrated on the automail. She could sense the metal, but it was _different_ to other metals. There was something running through it in wisp-like threads. She reached her sense towards them and started.

 

There was a sensation coming from the automail itself.

 

It wasn’t touch—at least, not in the usual sense. She couldn’t sense warmth or cold. She couldn’t detect the texture of the sheets beneath her, or the hardness or softness of the material. But, she knew was _touching_ something.

 

“I can feel  . . . something.” Her own voice sounded distant to her.

 

“Good.” Dominic’s voice was also far off.  “Now, try to move arm.”

 

Lan Fan tried to move the fingers, but nothing. She tried again. And again.

 

“Lan Fan?”

 

“I’m trying,” she snarled.

 

Ridel fell silent. She gritted her teeth, and adjusted her focus to the tiny threads of qi.

 

_Move._ She ordered, sending her thoughts down the threads. _Move!_

 

Still nothing. She sucked in a sharp breath. This couldn’t be happening. She _needed_ the arm to be functional. She couldn’t afford to be useless again.

 

_Move, damn you!_

 

The fingers clenched, sending pain shooting up her arm. She cried out. Her awareness snapped back to the real world. She realised that Grandfather had grabbed onto her uninjured hand.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

She nodded and blinked back tears. She looked down at her automail fist. It was clenched—and as she focused, she forced the fingers open. The small movement was agony, but she was doing it.

 

_She was moving her arm._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now Lan Fan has her automail, but things are still not easy for her.
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear any thoughts or comments, and if you're celebrating, have a wonderful Christmas and New Years.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's another chapter for your viewing pleasure. I've been reworking this chapter more than most, since it was originally a great deal more complex, and had several other characters. 
> 
> Still, I like how it ended up, and I'm happy to share it now. Enjoy!

Privacy. She’d never realised how important it was until the moment she’d agreed to be Dominic’s patient. It wasn’t just the fact that she’d had to bare her body for Dominic and his family to operate on her, or that they’d had to insert pipes into her most intimate places. It was the fact that they were constantly prodding her, or poking her, or wanting to check something with the automail. She knew it was necessary, but that didn’t erase the sense of _violation_ she sometimes felt.

 

Thankfully, things were slowly improving. Dominic had granted her one of his spare rooms for her to use for the rest of her recovery—and she had felt excessively grateful when she saw that the door had a lock. It was a plain room which had everything she needed—a comfortable wooden bed, a dresser with a mirror as well as shelves and cupboards for her to store her possessions. There were small hooks hammered into the one wall, in case the patient wanted to hang some pictures, and on the windowsill was one of the odd, cube-shaped radios she’d seen around Amestris as she’d travelled. Lan Fan had made the room her own as much as she could. Her clothes were neatly packed in the cupboards and the Young Lord’s message had a special place in her dresser. She’d also stored her kunai and grenades in one of the drawers of her dresser, near the small medical kit she’d found. It gave her a strange comfort to know that her weapons were stored within easy reach if something went wrong.

 

_And, with the way my time in Amestris is going, something is bound to go wrong._

 

Lan Fan pored over the scrap of paper Dominic had given her. He’d described in detail how she was supposed to exercise her new automail arm. The instructions also had suggested time frames for the exercises—time frames that spanned well over six months. She gritted her teeth. She’d _told_ him that she needed to recover in six months. Less, if she thought about the time she’d taken to find a surgeon and the time she’d spent recovering from her fever.

 

“Raise the arm up. Slowly lower it back down. Raise it up. Slowly lower it back down. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Then, extend the arm out, stretching out the fingers. Retract. Repeat. Repeat. Make a clenched fist. Raise it above the head. Unclench,” she read aloud.

 

She lowered the paper and shook her head. The exercises seemed boring, but they were extensive. When Dominic had handed the paper to her, he’d said that the exercises would ensure that the patient developed the full range of mobility. She even saw Dominic had made notes on the instructions next to some of the exercises such as “fine motor skills” and “gross motor skills.”

 

_At least he’s thorough,_ she thought.

 

She shifted on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. It had been several days since Dominic had attached the automail, and she still wasn’t used to the additional weight on her left side—or the aches coming from the limb. She was also struggling to figure out _exactly_ how the limb worked. All she’d managed to do so far were awkward, jerky movements. She hoped that, with practice, her movements would regain some of her old fluidity. She would need it if she ever hoped to return to being the Young Lord’s protector.The thought had made her want to start practicing her exercises the moment the limb had been attached—pain be damned—but Grandfather had watched her like a falcon and she hadn’t wanted to risk his wrath.

 

“Extend the arm as far forward as possible. Then carefully rotate the limb in a smooth circle forward. Keep the arm fully extended. Make one full rotation. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Then, circle the arm in the reverse direction. Make one full rotation. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.”

 

For some reason, the exercises reminded her of how Grandfather started teaching her martial arts with the Young Lord. At the very beginning, all he’d taught her and the Young Lord was to stand in a proper stance and practise the very basics: the seven blocks; the punches; the different kicks—extremely boring lessons for two excitable children. When the she and the Young Lord complained, Grandfather had smacked them each on the back of their heads and said that if they wanted training, they would do it in his way or no way at all, effectively silencing any further protests.

 

Only when they were older did Grandfather explain that the basics were the foundation for all other martial arts moves, and that there was no point to learning anything further if they didn’t have that fundamental knowledge. And, considering how many times those basics had saved both her and the Young Lord, she was grateful for Grandfather’s insistence on learning them. She took a deep breath and slowly raised her automail. She clenched the fist, but before she could start her exercises, there was a loud rap on the door.

 

“Come in,” she called, swallowing her irritation. It was probably Ridel or Dominic wanting to check her automail again.

 

To her surprise, Satera entered the room. She looked a little rumpled, and Lan Fan guessed that she had come straight from the workshop, since she was wearing an apron and had a headscarf on her head. In her one arm she held the baby, who kept trying to grab the one lock of Satera’s hair that escaped from the scarf.

 

Lan Fan stared at the two of them. She didn’t have much experience with children. She had no younger siblings, and her training kept her busy most of the time. But, she’d always thought that babies were annoying, squalling things that never stopped exhausting those around them. This baby contradicted that. He was rather mellow, and seemed happy to be held, whether it was by family or by others. Yes, he had his moments when he’d scream the roof off, but they were few and far between. And sometimes, the baby almost seemed . . . sweet. Like now, whilst he was smiling and grabbing at his mother’s hair.

 

“Good morning,” Satera said, as she deftly avoided her son’s grasping hands.

 

“Good morning,” Lan Fan responded.

 

She unfolded herself from the lotus position and gave Satera a bow. She tried to bring her automail hand to her other palm, but the limb shuddered and refused to cooperate. Her cheeks burnt as she awkwardly lowered her other hand. Satera was kind enough to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

 

“How did you sleep?”  Lan Fan asked.

 

"Not too bad. Although this one,” Satera bounced the baby and he giggled happily. “Kept me up half the night. And you? How did you sleep?”

 

“Well.” The lie came automatically to Lan Fan.

 

Satera raised an eyebrow. “You know that my room isn’t too far from yours. I can hear that you’re having nightmares.”

 

Lan Fan tensed. She wasn’t about to tell Satera that her dreams were filled with homunculi, and sharp blades and visions of the Young Lord being tortured. Satera quickly continued. “Don’t worry. It’s actually very normal for people who have had automail surgery to have nightmares. After all, losing a limb is a very traumatic experience. “

 

Still, Lan Fan didn’t say anything. Satera gave her a sympathetic smile. Then, her eyes moved to the windowsill.

 

“I have an idea that might help.”

 

Lan Fan frowned, as Satera went over to the radio. Lan Fan hadn’t bothered to touch it since she’d settled into the room, so she watched curiously as Satera fiddled with the dials. A moment later, a melody flowed out of the box. Lan Fan’s eyes widened. The music was a medley of instruments, some which she recognised—trumpets and guitars—and others which she didn’t. The sounds shouldn’t have worked so well together, but somehow did. A moment later, a human voice joined them. The singer’s voice was deep and husky, and Lan Fan immediately liked it.

 

“What kind of music is that?” she asked, as she came closer.

 

Satera smiled wider. “It’s something new developing in the cities. It’s called “Jazz”.  Ridel and I are huge fans. And so is this little one.” Satera bounced the baby who gave another happy giggle.

 

“I really like it,” Lan Fan said. “It’s very different from anything we have in Xing, but it’s beautiful.” She wondered briefly if the Young Lord would like it, or if he’d tease her for liking it. Probably a bit of both, if she was honest with herself.

 

“I’m glad you like it. If you like, I can leave it programmed for this station. They usually play lots of jazz. That way, you can turn it on when you have nightmares. Music can really help with the night terrors.”

 

“Won’t that wake you?” Lan Fan asked.

 

Satera’s eyes were soft. “If it helps my patient, I don’t mind a little music late at night. And, besides, the little one usually keeps me up anyway.” She tickled her son, and he squirmed in her arms with a delighted shriek.

 

“Oh. Thank you.” Lan fan bowed again, and concentrated on her automail. On the thin threads of qi running through it.

 

_Move!_

 

After a moment of struggling, she managed to bring her automail limb up and to press its palm to her living hand. The movement made her feel inordinately satisfied, and she gave a small smile to Satera as she straightened.

 

Satera hesitated, and then she said. “You know, another thing that can sometimes help is talking about what happened to you.”

 

“No, thank you,” Lan Fan said stiffly. “I don’t think it would help.”

 

“But it does. It’s a bit like drawing poison from a wound. You work though all the pain and trauma, until you can look back on the incident without being overwhelmed.”

 

Lan Fan narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said flatly.

 

Satera didn’t seem particularly disturbed by her refusal. “Maybe it is a bit too early. You’ll know when you’re ready to talk about it.”

 

Lan Fan doubted it. Talking about this was pointless. Talking about the incident wouldn’t change the fact that she lost her arm. Or that the Young Lord had been taken by the monster, Greed. It certainly wouldn’t change the fact that she’d failed the Young Lord. No matter how much Lan Fan might wish otherwise.

 

Satera adjusted the baby, and headed for the door. “Breakfast is ready, if you’re feeling hungry.” She glanced back at Lan Fan and the paper on the bed. “Don’t overdo it on the exercises, or Dominic will remove the automail until you start listening to him.”

 

Then, she was gone, leaving Lan Fan alone with her thoughts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lan Fan is slowly, ever so slowly, learning how to use her automail. She's got a long way to go but she's making progress.
> 
> Unfortunately, she's refusing to deal with her PTSD . . . .


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, shockingly, here's another update. Crazy right? But, happily during that long break I wrote alot for the story, and so I was able to pull together various bits and pieces to make the Chapters work how I wanted them to.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this.

“Brace yourself,” Ridel said, “I still need to tighten the screws.”

 

Lan Fan took a deep breath and held still as Ridel carefully adjusted the automail. She avoided looking at him as he worked, and instead let her eyes linger on the new automail designs on the wall, or the pieces of automail on Dominic’s workbench. Even the tools littered on their workstations were better to look at than him working on her automail.

 

“Right, you’re all set.” He said.

 

She risked a glance at him, and saw he’d pulled away from her automail. He wiped his hands on his apron and gave her a grin. “Now, there are some things you should know about automail care.”

 

Ridel suddenly had Lan Fan’s full attention. Grandfather always said that a warrior should know how to take care of herself. This was no exception.

 

He adjusted the goggles on his head “From what you’ve told us, there aren’t any automail engineers in Xing, am I right?”

 

“As far as I know.”

 

“All right. That will make things a little bit trickier for you, since you won’t be able to get your automail repaired or adjusted so easily.”

 

“Adjusted?”

 

Ridel nodded. “You’re still growing, so as you get older, you’re going to have to get the arm made larger to match your growth. Since women usually finish growing in their early twenties, I’d estimate you’d need adjustments every . . . eighteen to twenty four months.”

 

“Okay.”

 

She briefly wondered how the Young Lord would react when she told him that she would have to be returning to Amestris every few months. She had a feeling that he would probably want to accompany her on the trips. For a moment, her mind wandered. They could return together and visit Winry and the Elric brothers. She could show the Young Lord the wonderful jazz music, and maybe even bring a few of the vinyl records back to Xing with them. And, a gramophone to play them. Oh, and of course the Young Lord would want to try all his favourite Amestrian foods again.

 

Ridel cleared his throat and Lan Fan snapped her attention back to him. “I don’t want you to have to come back here for every little thing, so I’m going to show how to take care of your automail as much as you can by yourself.”

 

“I would greatly appreciate that.”

 

“Right.” Ridel wiped his face with a cloth and continued. “So, back to basics. Automail can rust, depending on what material it’s made from. My old man made your automail out of a special alloy that is resistant to both heat and cold, since you said your country has both kinds of weather. The alloy also is less prone to rusting, but it can still happen. So, what you want to do is dry the automail as soon as you get out of the shower or the bath.”

 

“Do I need to use something specific to dry it, or would any cloth do?”

 

“Try to use something that’s very absorbent, but that doesn’t have any loose strands of fabric that can get caught in the gears.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“You also can use certain polishes on the metal that can make them more resistant to rusting. We can supply you with several bottles before you leave. You should polish the automail every two weeks. Another problem that often comes up is that the gears stiffen up. The best way to prevent that would be to regularly oil the joints. All of them. You should start with the fingers and wrists, and then work your way up to the elbow and finally the shoulder joints. Make sure you oil the shoulder joint a lot, as that’s usually the one that gets the stiffest.”

 

Ridel paused, and Lan Fan nodded, as she realised that he was waiting for her to respond. He cleared his throat and continued.

 

“Now, you should always check that all the nuts and bolts are tight. If they’re not, the entire arm could simply fall apart.”

 

“How often should I check?”

 

“At least once a week. More, if you’ve been doing any really strenuous activities.”

 

She nodded, and paid attention as Ridel pointed out each and every screw and nut that she’d need to tighten. He made her point out each and every one back to him; until he was satisfied that Lan Fan knew where they all were.

 

“Is there anything else?”

 

“Yes, but it’s about your exercises, not automail care. You should consider how you’re going to practice your fine motor skills,” he said.

 

“What are those?” she asked.

 

“All the delicate movements that have to do with your fingers and toes.” He waggled his fingers for emphasis. “The carefully controlled movements like writing, or drawing. You need to work on doing things like that with your automail. Otherwise you might not regain those skills.”

 

“What should I do?”

 

“Some patients like to do crafts. Knitting or sewing are popular for women.”

 

Lan Fan raised her eyebrows. She’d never been good at either sewing or knitting—and she didn’t think that would change now.

 

“Is there any other way to practice?” she asked.

 

Ridel frowned and scratched his head. “I’m really not sure. I think any task that involved delicate finger movements would work.”

 

“Would using knives work?” Grandfather asked as he stepped out of the shadows. Ridel yelped and nearly fell off his crate.

 

“Don’t do that. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

 

Grandfather bowed. “Forgive me. But, may I ask whether knives would be a good idea for Lan Fan to practice with for her fine motor skills?”

 

“Knives? Like cutlery? Yes, that’s a good example.”

 

Lan Fan shared a glance with Grandfather, and knew that he wasn’t talking about cutlery. She thought of the kunai she kept safe in her top dresser. She hadn’t touched them in months. She glanced at Grandfather’s face. He seemed deep in thought, and Lan Fan hoped that he wasn’t planning what she thought he was.

 

***

 

Lan Fan stared at the scrap of cloth in her hands. She’d lost track of how many times she’d read the words _I found a Philosopher’s Stone._ She couldn’t help going back to the message, though she was careful when she touched it with her automail. The last thing she wanted was for the material to get caught in the gears and tear . . . or something. Without her permission, her thoughts went to the Young Lord. She wondered what the Young Lord was doing. Or rather, what that monster was making him do? Had he been forced to attack people? Or had he escaped?

 

Something leapt into the room, and she sprang off the bed, bring her hands up into a defensive position. She blinked in surprise as she took in Grandfather, who was standing there and giving her an assessing look. Even in ordinary Amestrian clothes, he gave the impression of being a soldier.

 

“Grandfather?” she said, and immediately pressed her palms together and bowed.

 

“Yes. It’s good to see that your reflexes are still sharp, even if your sense of qi needs to be focused.  As the Young Lord’s protector, you can not afford to relax your guard.”

 

She flushed. “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”

 

“Now, we can start our training.”

 

“Training?” Did that mean they were going back to practising katas and her blocks and strikes? Her heart leapt. _That’s_ what she needed to be doing. Not the repetitive exercises Dominic gave her. She needed to prepare herself for when she saw the Young Lord again.

 

“I came to help you practice your fine motor skills,” Grandfather said.

 

 

Lan Fan felt her stomach drop and tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. He went over to her dresser and pulled out something. He held it out to her and she tensed. It was one of her kunai. She swallowed hard.

 

“I want you to practice flipping it.”

 

She reached out with her shaking right hand and—

 

“Your other hand.”

 

She glanced at him, but his face was hard. She took another deep breath, and reached out with her _automail_ arm. The simple movement still felt awkward, though she had been practising. Her hand hovered above Grandfather’s as she tried to work out how to make the fingers move. She concentrated on the tiny threads of qi, but even that didn’t seem to help. She watched the hand clench and unclench above his hand, before she lowered the palm and tried to grasp the handle. The fingers fumbled the grip and the kunai clattered to the floor. She felt her cheeks burn.

 

Grandfather gave her a look as he withdrew his hand. “Try again.”

 

She bent down and tried to get the automail to grab the kunai. Her fingers scratched against the floor, and she winced at the sound. The metal fingers knocked against the blade and sent it skittering across the floor. She glanced at Grandfather, who didn’t say anything.  Each time she tried to grab the kunai, the clumsy automail sent the blade flying, and she had to try and retrieve it when it slid under her bed or beneath the dresser. Once or twice, she managed to grasp it, only for the grip to be too loose, and the kunai would fall from her fingers. She fought against the feelings of humiliation and weakness as she tried and over again with no success.

 

Eventually, she straightened, and bowed to Grandfather.

 

“I can’t do this, Grandfather.” The words stung.

 

“Yes. You can. Pick it up.”

 

“I—you saw how I struggled.”

 

“We’ll work on your grip. Pick it up with your right hand, and put it into your automail hand.”

 

She nodded, and immediately scooped her kunai off the floor. The blade felt comfortable in her hand. The same way it had done on the day when—

 

_No!_

 

She wasn’t going to think of it. She had to focus. Images flickered in her mind, and she realised she was shaking. Cold sweat dripped from her forehead onto the floor.

 

“Lan Fan?” Grandfather stepped towards her, concern glinting in his eyes.

 

 She shook her head, and willed herself to remain standing. “I’m fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” His eyes bored into her.

 

“Yes.”

 

“All right. Then, I want you to practice flipping the kunai. Go.”

 

She flicked the kunai easily with her right hand. The blade glinted as it spun through the air. She repeated it several times until Grandfather nodded.

 

“Now, close your eyes, and concentrate on the feel of the movement. On how your fingers and hand work together to get the kunai to flip.”

 

She closed her eyes, and repeated the movement. She tried to focus on how the muscles in her hand stretched and contracted, and how the fingers synchronised to get the result she wanted. After a flips, and a few more flamboyant ones, he said, “Try with your automail hand now.”

 

She opened her eyes and obediently changed hands. She could vaguely sense the blade in her grip, but the feeling was still strange. She concentrated, feeling the threads of qi winding through the automail. She tried to move her fingers in the familiar way, but she fumbled it, and the kunai fell to the floor. She gritted her teeth, scooped the kunai up, and tried again. And again. And again. With each failure, she felt her frustration mount until it was all she could do not to hurl the kunai at the wall.

 

“Enough,” Grandfather said, and Lan Fan was perfectly happy to stop the practice.

 

“We will keep practicing on that. And, I want you to practice on your own.”

 

“Yes, Grandfather.” She bowed to him, and grabbed the kunai tightly with her free hand. Then, she went over to her dresser, yanked open the drawer, and stuffed the kunai into it. She slammed the drawer shut and turned back to face Grandfather.

 

Grandfather frowned and then said “Maybe there are other ways to practice these skills.”

 

“What are you thinking of?”

 

“ . . . we haven’t played Pai Sho for a while.”

 

Pai Sho? Her eyes widened. It was her favourite game from childhood. Grandfather had taught it to her and the Young Lord years ago, as a way of honing their strategic skills and long-term thinking. She loved it—those quiet evenings when the three of them would sit together and play were some of her most precious memories.

 

“But, how would we play? We didn’t bring a board to Amestris.”

 

A smug look glanced across Grandfather’s face. “I have one already. And the pieces.”

 

Her eyes widened. “When did you get those?”

 

“I made them. I had to keep myself occupied while you were fighting the fever.” A darkness lingered in his eyes, but before Lan Fan could comment, he stood, and headed towards the door. “I think Satera has finished making dinner. Shall we go eat?”

 

She set down her kunai. “Yes, Grandfather.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, learning to use automail isn't easy. To be honest, this was a chapter where I really connected with her frustration.
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All. 
> 
> Here's the next chapter of our story, where Lan Fan receives another blast from the past.

Lan Fan cautiously rolled her shoulder and then reached out her automail and flexed her fingers. There was pain when she moved, but she felt some of her anxiety ease at the fact that it was much less painful than it had been a week ago. If things kept going this well, she might recover even faster than she’d hoped.  She almost smiled as she reached for the jacket hanging on the foot of her bed. Winter had come to the desert and the days were now edged with cold. It brought with it another annoying reality—whenever she wore shirts with long sleeves, the fabric usually got caught in the automail, resulting in torn shirts, or jammed gears. She’d been forced to remove the sleeves of all her shirts and jackets, which gave her clothing a slightly lopsided look.

 

_The Young Lord would probably laugh his head off if he saw me chopping off the sleeves of all my clothes._

Lan Fan shook herself and pushed the Young Lord from her mind.  She finished getting dressed and went to the kitchen in search of Grandfather. As soon as she left the room, a strange music filled her ears. She paused and cocked her head. She recognised it as “Jazz” but this time she was able to identify more of the instruments: saxophone, trumpet, and piano. It still surprised her how well the different sounds blended together. Lan Fan felt her heart lift as she listened to it. The music was beautiful—but where was it coming from? She focused her hearing, pushed open the door o the kitchen and blinked in surprise.

 

Satera was there, carefully washing the dishes. The early sunlight filtered through the window, and made the clean crockery glisten. Grandfather sat at the table with a Pai Sho board spread out in front of him. Her throat tightened as she took in the roughly-hewn pieces and the hand-painted symbols on the tiles. An image of Grandfather sitting beside her prone, fever-wracked body and whittling away as he tried to keep his thoughts occupied shot across her mind and made her insides twist. Then, she blinked and the image was gone.

 

Grandfather gave her a look. “Would you like to play?”

 

She nodded eagerly, and took a seat opposite Grandfather.  Her eyes moved past him to the odd, box-shaped radio perched upon the counter. The beautiful melody poured out of it and filled the room with its warmth.

 

“That’s more jazz, am I right?” Lan Fan asked hesitantly.

 

Satera tossed her a smile over her shoulder. “Yes, it is! I’m glad you recognised it.”

 

“Jazz?” Grandfather asked.

 

“It’s a new type of music we have here in Amestris. Do you like it?”

 

To Lan Fan’s surprise, Grandfather nodded. “I like the liveliness of it. It’s certainly like nothing we have back in Xing.”

 

“Well, if you’re interested in Jazz, I could loan you some of my vinyls. We have a gramophone set up, so you just need to put it in and put the needle in place to get the music going.”

 

Grandfather stood up and pressed his palms together as he bowed. “Thank you.”

 

“Oh, it’s no trouble. I like seeing people enjoying good music.”

 

She turned back to the dishes. Lan Fan started to make her first move as Grandfather settled back into his seat.

 

“Other hand,” Grandfather said automatically.

 

Lan Fan gave him a sheepish look and carefully brought her automail up. She tried to make the fingers grab the tiles and it took her three attempts before she was able to pick up the tile and move it to the right spot. Grandfather moved and then waited for her. She fumbled as she tried to pick up the tile, but she managed to make her move. The game continued, and Lan Fan felt herself slowly relaxing as she concentrated on getting her clumsy new automail fingers to work.  At least this was a lot simpler—and more enjoyable—than trying to flip the kunai.

 

Satera finished the dishes and tilted her head at them.

 

“Do you mind if I watch?”

 

Lan Fan and Grandfather shook their heads and Satera took a seat where she could watch both sides of the board.  

 

“This looks really interesting. How do you play?”

 

“The game is based on the ancient Xingese art of flower arranging,” Grandfather explained, “It’s been said that certain plants and certain flowers are in harmony with one another. Each tile represents a different flower and arranging the tiles in a certain way will create a harmony between the tiles. The purpose of Pai Sho is to create harmonies between the tiles. The more harmonies you make, the more points you collect. If you create a grouping of tiles that are in disharmony, you will lose points. The player with the most points wins.”

 

“So, which tiles are in harmony with each other?”

 

Grandfather proceeded to explain the various harmonies and disharmonies, whilst Lan Fan concentrated on making her fingers open and close. Was it her imagination, or was the movement becoming easier?

 

 “You’re making good progress in relearning your fine motor skills,” Satera said, jolting Lan Fan out of her thoughts.

 

Lan Fan shrugged. “I said I wanted to recover within six months. It won’t happen if I don’t practice.”

 

“You should be careful though. You don’t want to overdo it.”

 

Lan Fan shrugged again. Grandfather reached for another tile—

 

“We interrupt this broadcast for an important news bulletin,” the woman’s voice suddenly came from the radio. Their heads snapped towards the voice. “We apologise to Jazz fans throughout Amestris, but we’ve managed to secure an exclusive interview with Führer King Bradley.”

 

Lan Fan stiffened and the world started spinning.  

 

“Führer King Bradley has graciously agreed to speak with us about the horrible attack on his family a few weeks back. Now, if you would please tell us what happened, we’re all dying to know.”

 

“It’s quite simple. My wife and I  . . .”

 

That voice.

 

_You took a stab at me with your kunai._

 

She bit back a scream.

 

“  . . . it was just a quiet night in. You know we aren’t as young as . . .”

 

_How do you know what’s inside Gluttony?_

 

That awful voice. Her limbs quaked.

 

“ . . . then, he lunged at me and I . . . “

 

_You could probably escape it you’d simply abandon the injured girl. She’s just excess baggage at this point._

 

His face filled her vision. She could feel the blade ripping through her flesh.

 

_Excessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggageexcessbaggage_

“LAN FAN!” Something struck her hard.

 

She blinked and suddenly stared into Grandfather’s pale face. His one hand was drawn back—to slap her again, she realised. The fingers of his other hand dug into her flesh arm to keep her upright. She needed it. The world was shaking, and her muscles felt like slush.

 

“ _Lan_ _Fan_ ,” he said sharply in Xingese. “ _You need to breathe_.” He cupped her cheek and forced her to focus on him.

 

Breathe? She couldn’t. Her lungs were crushed. She couldn’t—

 

“ _Breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out_.”

 

The instinctive need to obey him kicked in, and she tried to suck in air.

 

“ _No. Not shallow. Deep breaths. Nice, deep breaths. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe.”_

 

The words were calming. She tried to mimic the way his chest rose and fell, and slowly, painfully slowly, her breathing levelled out.

 

And as it did, she noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks. Without a word, Grandfather pulled her closer, and let her rest her head on his shoulder. His hand moved soothingly through her hair, just like he used to do when she was small and woke up from nightmares. It took her a long time to quieten her sobs, but she eventually pulled away from him. She wiped her eyes.

 

“Forgive me, Grandfather.”

 

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

 

She looked away, and realised that she was seated on the floor with Grandfather. Her chair was overturned, and Pai Sho pieces were scattered everywhere. The radio was still on, but it had gone back to playing jazz music. Satera sat at the table, her face pale and eyes wide.

 

“Are you okay?” Satera asked.

 

Lan Fan nodded weakly, and Grandfather helped her get to her feet. Lan Fan pressed her palms together and bowed to Satera.

 

“I’m very sorry for worrying you. I’ll pick up the tiles and tidy things up.”

 

Satera waved her hands at Lan Fan and Grandfather. “Don’t worry about it. You’d better go and lie down. You look very pale.”

 

Lan Fan nodded, and walked towards the door on unsteady legs. As she left the room, she heard Satera ask in a low voice.

 

“What just happened?”

 

Grandfather’s voice was calm as he responded, and Lan Fan was certain that only she could hear the lie in his voice.

 

“She sometimes has flashbacks to the train accident. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of her.”

 

A few moments later, she heard the kitchen door open. Grandfather came up beside her. He kept his one hand wrapped around her arm, and the other around her waist to steady her.

 

He guided her back to her room and she gratefully sank onto the bed. She buried her face in her hands, and tried to take deep, calming breaths. The mattress sank beneath Grandfather’s weight as he sat beside her. She turned to look at him, as she folded her fingers in her lap. She tried to read Grandfather’s expression, but he kept his face deliberately blank.

 

“So, that was Führer King Bradley? The one called Wrath?”

 

Her stomach roiled. “Yes.”

 

She fixed her eyes on her Grandfather’s wrinkled hands. Her eyes moved over the familiar scars and callouses and she remembered how often he’d patched her up after she’d injured herself during training.

 

“He’s the one who took your arm.”

 

She frowned at the odd tone in his voice. Then, she noticed the tremor running through his fingers. She looked up and stared at his expression. She’d never seen such searing rage in him before.

 

“Grandfather?”

 

“That _bastard_. That _bastard_ took your arm.”

 

Lan Fan reached out with both hands—metal and flesh—and took his hands.

 

“It’s . . . okay. Grandfather. I’m okay.”

 

His eyes blazed. “He took your arm. When I see him, I will return the favour.”

 

Her heart slammed into her chest at the thought of Grandfather fighting against Führer King Bradly.

 

“Grandfather, you can’t—”

 

“You will not tell me what I can and can’t do.” He brought her hands up, and gave them each a light kiss. “Now, you should rest. I’m going to see if Dominic needs any help moving his tools. He said that there may be thunderstorms on the way and he doesn’t want them to rust.”

 

“I— I don’t think I can rest just yet.” She really didn’t want her thoughts to be free to linger on memories of Wrath and his blades. “I’ll practice a few of my exercises for now.”

 

Grandfather nodded. “Don’t overdo it.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. So, I hope that everyone "enjoyed" this chapter. Once again, I wanted to emphasise that Lan Fan is severely traumatised and , as I have some experience with PTSD, I wanted to include that in this fic. I also wanted to include some more Fu and Lan Fan bonding--the world needs a bit more of that, I feel. 
> 
> I also hope people enjoyed the nod to ATLA!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, here we have Lan Fan dealing with the aftermath of hearing Wrath's voice. Things just aren't easy for her . . .

_Lan Fan placed her hand against the wall. The stone was rough beneath her palm, and cold to the touch. The world around her was silent, yet the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching her every move. She sucked in a breath and continued making her way down the steep staircase. She tried to send out her sense of qi and immediately felt the writhing, putrid mass of qi that characterised Amestris. But, now it almost entirely surrounded her. She took a few deep breaths to stop herself vomiting and hurried along._

_She came to the foot of the stairs and glanced about. She’d ended up in the sewers, somehow. Filthy water moved sluggishly in the narrow canal and the ground beneath her feet was covered in grime, as well as other things she didn’t want to think about. She spotted the skeletons of a few animals and splinters of bone that looked like they came from something a lot larger. On impulse, she went left and soon she heard the sound of voices. Most, she didn’t know, but one she did._

 

_“What the hell are you?! How many people do you have inside you?!”_

 

_She ran towards the sound of the Young Lord’s voice. Moments later, she burst into a room lit by a single white light._

_She’d never seen a room like it before. The walls were coated with thick cables that wound their way to a single chair—almost like a throne—in the centre of the room. A man stood there. He was dressed in white robes and had blonde hair tumbling over his shoulders. His gold eyes were indifferent as he looked at the Young Lord. Her breath caught as she took in the bruises on the Young Lord’s body and the dried blood on his clothes. He had a sword levelled at the man—possibly the tackiest sword she’d ever seen. The man twitched and the ground beneath the Young Lord split open. The Young Lord leapt aside, only slam into a pillar of stone that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Another stone hand smacked him aside, sending him flying into the distant wall._

_She ran forward to help him and saw a flash of silver in the corner of her eye. She jumped aside, barely missing the blade that tried to slice her open. She spun around, drawing her kunai, and she came face to face with Führer King Bradley. His sword flashed and she barely brought up her kunai in time. She twisted as the second blade nearly severed her arm. Then, the world dissolved into strike and counter strike as she tried to keep ahead of those impossibly fast swords. She deflected the one blade and cried out as the other bit deep into her palm. Her kunai clattered to the floor. Before she could grab it, the ground suddenly rippled, knocking her off her feet. She tumbled and tried to stand. Too slowly. She screamed as Führer King Bradley’s swords stabbed through her forearms. He bent down and she went cold as she stared into his mismatched eyes._

_“Now, you stay here and watch. My father has a special plan in store for your friend.”_

 

No!

 

_She twisted her head. The man had the Young Lord pinned beneath a stone hand. He moved closer to the Young Lord, holding something in his palm._

 

_“No!” she screamed, trying to free herself._

 

_The blades had her pinned. She could only watch in horror as the man reached the Young Lord and turned his palm over. A single drop of red liquid fell and landed on the Young Lord’s cut._

_The Young Lord screamed and his body bucked. She could see_ things _bulging beneath his skin, warping his body. She heard bones snap and he kept screaming, until he choked on his own blood. He thrashed and suddenly went still._

_She thought her heart stopped beating. Then—impossibly—he rolled onto his side, and groaned. Her blood froze._

_It wasn’t the Young Lord’s voice._

_And, when his head lifted up, the wine-coloured eyes that stared at her weren’t the Young Lord’s._

 

Lan Fan jerked and clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream. Again. Another damn nightmare. She rolled onto her side and wiped her dripping forehead. She tried not to shudder at the feeling of her cold automail on her skin.

 

Her nightmares had increased from the moment she’d heard the Führer’s voice on the radio. They came thick and fast, and she’d often woken up to find her throat hoarse from screaming. Some nights, she’d wake up, and sense her Grandfather’s qi resting just outside her door. Other nights, she’d find him sitting at the foot of her bed. He asked her, once, what her nightmares were about. All she’d said was that she didn’t want to talk about it, and he’d left it at that.

 

She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

 

_Can I eat her?_

 

_Make it quick._

 

She snapped her eyes open and swallowed hard. Her throat had gone dry.

 

 _I just need to relax. That’s all I need. I’m safe here._ With that thought, she swung her legs out of the bed. She blinked and tried to force her eyes to adjust to the darkness of her room. The drawn curtains meant that most of the moonlight couldn’t enter the room, though the few silver glimmers that did enter were just enough for her to make out the shape of the radio on the windowsill. She went over and lightly pressed one of the buttons on the machine.

 

“  . . . _and so, that’s how the story goes. I lost my lover and friend. . . ”_

 

Lan Fan hit the button again, cutting off the melody. No. She couldn’t listen to songs about lost friends or lovers. Not now.

_Just go, and make a soothing pot of chamomile tea and get some proper rest._ The thought sounded like Grandfather’s advice. She grabbed the warm dressing gown she’d placed on the one chair and slipped her feet into a pair of soft slippers. Then, she slipped out her room and into the short passage. Moonlight spilt in through the half-open screen, leeching the colour from the stone and rug on the floor. As she walked past the window, she gave a quick glance outside. It was a muted grey world out there, full of jagged rocks and cliffs that towered above the house. Lan Fan could even see that the thick clouds overhead were grey—and she shuddered at the thought of rain. Dominic said that weather changes could cause the automail to hurt, and if she ached in mild temperatures, she hated to think of what rain or snow could do to her. 

 

Her eyes landed on the wooden bridge that led from Dominic’s house down to Rush Valley. Lan Fan hadn’t been down that path in . . . weeks? Months? Had it really been that long? So many weeks of recovery, and still she was barely functional.

 

 _Pathetic,_ a voice hissed in her ear. _Utterly pathetic._

 

She turned away from the window. The sooner she got the tea, the sooner she could get to bed and try to blot out the dark voice. Then, she paused. She could hear low voices coming from the kitchen. A quiver passed down her spine, and she automatically settled into a fighting posture. The movement sent a spike of pain through her and she almost hissed.

 

_How am I going to fight like this?_

 

She squashed the doubts and took a deep breath. She could do this. Grandfather had taught her how to fight. She could rely on her right side if she had to. She stalked closer to the kitchen and noticed shadows shifting beneath the door.  She reached towards the handle and—

 

“All right, Old man, what the hell is going on?”

 

She recognised Dominic’s voice, but his tone did nothing to ease her tension.

 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

 

The second voice belonged to Grandfather, and though it seemed mild, Lan Fan could hear the steel in it.  

 

“I’m talking about the soldiers swarming around town, asking questions about a Xingese girl searching for an automail engineer.”

 

Her blood froze. The military was looking for her? She winced at her own stupidity. _Of course_ the military was looking for her.  The Young Lord and she had made themselves clear targets by figuring out Führer King Bradley’s true identity—Wrath. Add that to the fact that they’d displayed an ability to detect Philosopher’s Stones, and interfere with the enemies’ plans . . .  

 

“What did you tell them?”  Grandfather asked.

 

“Nothing. I don’t trust the military,” Dominic said, “But, if they come snooping around here . . .”

 

“They won’t. And, we’ll be long gone before they realise you’ve helped us.”

 

“Are you sure about that?” Dominic demanded. “I’ve got family who are facing the firing squad if the military gets wind of this.”

 

“I can give you my word that we will be gone by spring. Lan Fan will have recovered by then.”

 

Dominic made an angry noise. “So, _you’re_ pushing her to recover?”

 

“That’s not your concern.”

 

“Yes, it is. She’s my patient.”

 

“She’ll be fine.”

 

“Are you sure? I’ve seen more automail patients than I can keep track of. And, your granddaughter is pushing herself beyond what’s normal for a recovering patient. But, she’s not pushing because she wants to recover. She’s pushing because she’s terrified of something.”

 

“I know that!” There was a loud bang—her eyes widened as she realised Grandfather had thumped his fist on the table.

 

“I know that,” he repeated. “I can see it in her eyes. But, she won’t talk to me. Not even when I wake her from her nightmares . . . I don’t know how to help her. I wish I could help her. No, I wish that our places had been reversed. That I could give her my arm to use.”

 

Lan Fan went numb at the thought of Grandfather losing his limbs in a battle with Wrath. The men’s conversation continued on the other side of the door and Lan Fan forced herself to listen.

 

 “A lot of relatives feel like that,” Dominic said and Lan Fan could hear the experience in his voice. “Each patient is unique, so it’s difficult to judge what they need. What works for one doesn’t work for the others.”

 

“So, what can I do?”

 

“Support her. Love her. And all that other mushy crap.”

 

Grandfather huffed a laugh, but it sounded sorrowful. “I always have. I always will. But . . . do other relatives blame themselves too?”

 

“Sometimes. Why do you blame yourself?”

 

There was a long pause and, when Grandfather spoke again, his voice was raw. “I’ve always praised Lan Fan for her physical prowess. Her fighting ability and her strength. And, perhaps that is why she’s struggling so much now. Because I forgot to praise her for her true strengths. Her loyalty, iron will and kindness.”

 

There was so much _pain_ in his voice. Lan Fan grabbed the door handle and— she stopped.

 

Grandfather and Dominic wouldn’t like to find out that she’d spied on them. Although, Grandfather might know that she had been spying, given that he was so attuned to her qi. She turned away from the door and started back towards her rooms. There was no chance of her getting any chamomile tea now. And no chance of rest with her thoughts churning from the conversation she’d just heard.

 

As she got closer to her rooms, she sensed another qi coming from her rooms. No, two qis. She walked forward and pushed open the door. Satera was sitting on the bed, her son clutched to her chest. There were dark rings around her eyes and her usually cheerful face was folded into a frown. 

 

“Satera?” Lan Fan asked. “It’s late. What are you doing up?”

 

“I was just making sure that he was asleep.” She rocked the baby in her arms as she spoke. “He was a bit restless earlier. And I wanted to talk to you.”

 

“Me? Why?”

 

“The broadcast” Lan Fan tensed “the one about the Führer. You reacted like—like you’d had a bad experience with him. Flashbacks, nightmares, shaking—they’re classic signs of PTSD.”

 

“PTSD?”

 

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“And, Dominic mentioned that the military is asking about a Xingese girl. I want to know . . . did you have anything to do with the attack on Führer King Bradley earlier this year?”

 

Lan  Fan met Satera’s gaze. “Neither my Grandfather nor I had anything to do with the attack on Führer King Bradley,” she said truthfully.

 

Satera hummed, as if she realised Lan Fan wasn’t telling her the whole truth. “Are you here to kill the Führer?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then, why is the military looking for you?”

 

“It will be safer for you and your family if you don’t know.”

 

The colour seeped from Satera’s face and she clutched her son protectively to her chest. “Is it that serious?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Satera hesitated. “Is the military involved in something bad?”

 

Lan Fan reluctantly nodded.  

 

“Who is—”

 

“It’s really not safe for you to know more than that,” Lan Fan said, quickly.

 

Satera bit her lip and nodded. “All right. But . . . what can we do?”

 

“All you can do is take care of your son.”

 

“And you?”

 

Lan Fan steeled herself. “I’m going to try and stop it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we get a bit more insight into Fu. He's a really intersting character and, in first drafts of this story, I would shift perspectives between Lan Fan and him during the recovery period. In the end, since this is Lan Fan's story , I cut out the chapters relating to Fu. But, I still wanted to get a sense of his view on things, so I included this conversation.
> 
> I hope that people "enjoyed" it and please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what do you think? I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> The next chapter may take a while to come, because of the emotional difficulties I have writing this, and because of a lack of time!


End file.
